My Freedom Millions

My Freedom Millions

Angela.

I have always been a daydreamer, and now at the ripe old age of 24 I think I was getting worse. I used to dream about being carried off by a Mountie on his white horse. We would ride like the wind under a starry night before he carried me into his lonely little cabin in the wastelands of Canada. Somehow I seemed to draw a blank over the next few days and nights before I lived happily ever after.

Sometimes a cave-man would do it for me too. Again, somehow I only remembered the good days being dragged around by the hair before recognising that I had a brood of children. They were somehow absent.

A fireman, a pop-star, even once my dentist, they all had appeared briefly but chastely in my dreams.

All my friends at school were actually going out with boys, talking about willies, blow-jobs, spunk, and even orgasms.

I was always left out. I did not even have a mate to double date with, and even if I had, no boy that I would have wanted would have been seen dead with me.

Overweight, glasses and between the years of sixteen and twenty, acne. Also a bit of a nerd. I threw myself into schoolwork because really there was nothing else. I don't think I was particularly clever but worked hard to get some decent A levels and was for a while a certainty for a first in a BA English Literature at Uni.

Then my mother died and left me inconsolable. She had been the only person I could talk to. She kept me sane. My father had run off with another woman when I was two. We had never heard from him since.

I was alone and it showed as my studying went down-hill fast. I eventually came out with a 2.2 and was thrown at the mercy of the world.

I decided to stay in London where I had studied. I knew no other world except the village where my mother had lived near Carlisle on the Scottish border. There were no jobs there for someone with a degree in English literature apart from teaching, and having only so far in my life experienced school and university, academia was the last thing on my mind.

I had been left all my mother's possessions and scraped together enough money for a deposit on a one bedroomed flat in a poor area near Marylebone. I managed to get a job with a publishing company, nothing important, but it paid enough to keep up the repayments and live. Definitely no Caribbean holidays though. Anyhow I was such a nerd that I would rather go walking in the Cotswolds. The Grampians would have been too much of an adventure. When I said I would rather go walking in the Cotswolds, that was a bit of a lie. At my weight, I tried not to walk anywhere. But I did daydream about walking holidays, again, somehow, I was always walking with men.

What a life stretched out before me. I had stuffed myself with comfort food following the death of my mother and I was still eating all the wrong food. The cheapest! I could never see myself losing weight.

I still daydreamed. The art gallery attendant, did he look at me twice? The guy taking the money for the Guide at the Museum, was that a smile?

My dreams had changed a little though. Significantly I began to get this itchy sensation in my loins. Loins, loins, what a wonderful word. I mean between my legs. There I said it. I would lay in bed, sometimes thinking of the handsome young man managing the Mini Market. My fingers would be playing in my pubic hair.

I usually stroked it over my clothes, but sometimes at night I would put my hands under my nightie and even under the big white comfortable panties I used to sleep in.

These nights I would lay awake for hours just playing with the curls until eventually the happy dreams of a man in my life would turn to sadness and then bitterness.

There I was on Saturday night watching television as usual. It had been a really good documentary on Queen Victoria. Even she had a better love-life than I did, even if it was kept under wraps. I turned on the news for probably the high spot of my week. I always enjoyed checking out the Lottery ticket numbers and had even won twice in the last two weeks, ten pounds each time. I knew I was on a roll.

Six, my birth date, Eleven, November, that's my month, twenty-four, that's my age. Yeahhh, Ten pounds again. Twenty seven, my flat number, thirty five and thirty six.

Well I had four numbers, now I would have to find my ticket. I always used the same four and added a couple of others each week randomly.

I found the ticket and ... 'OH MY GOD' I think I passed out.

I lay on the sofa and just thought about it. The win. The big one.

How much was it? I had forgotten to listen when they mentioned the amount. How many winners were there? I knew it was a roll-over after no winning ticket had been sold mid-week. Surely there had to be a Million?

I lay there and began to dream of yachts and men, a new apartment, and men, wonderful new clothes and men.

I pulled off my jeans which were too tight around the waist and decided to buy a new pair. Soon I was curling my pubic hair between my fingers. For the first time ever, I lowered my fingers between my legs. I was sticky. This felt good. This felt too good. I stopped in shame. What was I doing? Was I going to go blind? I had been warned by my mother about touching myself down there. I quickly got up and washed my hands. Returning to bed I sank into a deep sleep, strangely disturbed by dreams of a man playing with the hair between my legs.

Sunday morning I rang the number on the back of the ticket. I could wait no longer.

The girl on the other end of the phone was bubbly and dramatic.

'Angela, may I call you Angela.my name is Morgan?'

I had told her that my name was Angela Mary Prendergast and that I had a winning ticket.

'Yes, please that would be nice,' I said, thinking that she was dreadfully informal.

'I would like to send someone round to authenticate the ticket. Are you staying in? He can be there within the hour.'

'Yes, of course, 'I replied. 'How much have I won?'

'Well let us just check the ticket first please. The gentleman's name is Gary, Gary Ayres. He will carry identification. Are you on your own? Would you like to have a family member or friend present?'

I thought briefly and went a little sad.

'No, there is only me. That will be alright.....I am not going anywhere.'

'Okay,' said Morgan. What sort of a name was that anyway. Morgan, she didn't sound Welsh? 'Gary will be round within the hour.'

I had to tidy up. I never had visitors. No man had even been over the door step. I began to fantasise. He would be twenty-six, tall, dark and good-looking and would sweep me off my feet.

Hang on. I had just won maybe one million pounds. Was he only after my money? The doorbell rang.

Gary.

I had the best job in the world. There were three of us in the South of England who would take turns visiting the biggest winners. I had been lucky enough to tell nearly a dozen people that they had won enough to keep them in luxury for the rest of their lives. They were always different. From the 'Spend Spend Spend' inclination of some at one extreme, to the, 'No I am not going to move or tell anyone as I don't want to lose my friends,' at the other.

This one was going to be very pleased to see me I thought as I rang the doorbell of a decidedly cheap flat in a poor part of town. Kids hanging around the staircase. Lift not working, still only on the second floor. Just one lady, alone apparently. Angela, could be any age I guessed, probably older, and old fashioned. She would be a spender I reckoned. On her own and living in a shit place like this.

The door opened inwards. It seemed like an age before the door was opened a crack, on the chain. No lights were on and a timorous voice, said 'Yes?'

'Angela? Angela Prendergast? I am from the Lottery. Gary Ayres.' I held out an identity card that I could easily have made on my PC at work. I hadn't, it was issued by the company, but it was still just a piece of paper. She took it from me, turned on the light and suspiciously examined it. She returned it and almost silently started to show me her lottery ticket.

'NO,' I practically shouted at her. I looked around to make sure that we were not being watched. I wondered later if I would have been responsible if someone had seen us, grabbed the ticket and ran off with it. 'I am sorry Angela, I didn.t mean to make you jump. That is possibly a very valuable piece of paper, please keep it safe in your hand for the time being. May I come in?'

The door shut and eventually reopened a little further this time.

'Come in, I am afraid I haven't had time to tidy up a bit. It is a bit messy. Please, come into the lounge, move those magazines off the chair. I meant to take them back to the library, but the fines are so big now, I am not sure if...... I can make some tea if you would like some.'

I looked at the state of the coffee table in front of me, piled high with dirty tea cups and used plates and almost decided that it was safer to decline. It would be better however if I could make her relax a little more.

'That would be nice, thank you.'

She shuffled off to the kitchen so I decided to follow her and chat. Anything to put her at her ease.

'Have you lived here long?' I asked, and made her jump. She hadn't realised that I had followed her out.

'Two years, after I left Uni. My mother died and left me enough to put a down payment on it. It's not much but prices are so expensive. Even though this area is a little cheaper than most.'

'Do you have a job?' I asked.'

'Yes, I work for a publisher. Simon and Briggs. You know, reading potential publications and a bit of proof reading. Nothing executive. This is all I can afford. I like to read,' she added almost as an afterthought. 'Romances are my favourites.'

We took our teas back into the lounge. She seemed a little happier. I cleared a few old cups and plates and found room for my cup. I would have refused a biscuit on health principles.

'Well,' I started, 'May I have a look at the ticket now. Before I check it, do you mind if I turn on the voice recorder I have here, just for security purposes.'

She nodded so I set my little recorder to work and sat it next to the tea cup. 'Before you hand me the ticket, would you mind just reading aloud the numbers on it please. Just another little check for my security.'

She nodded, while probably not understanding why I did it.

She cleared her throat and started, 'Six,....Eleven....Twenty four..... twenty seven........ thirty five...........and thirty six.' She had got slower and slower. We had probably both held our breath.

They were the right numbers. Now I had to check them myself.

'Can I ask where you bought the ticket please.'

I knew it was at the Paper Shop on the corner. All was looking good.

'Yes at Patel's the mini market on the corner.'

I nodded and accepted the piece of paper from her hand.

I checked the numbers. Good..good..good..good..good..good. I checked the security number on the paper against the one I had in my pocket. Good.

'Well Angela, I will not beat around the bush.... Congratulations, you hold this week's winning lottery ticket. And you are the only winner.

A big smile broke out on her face. The first time I had seen anything remotely like a smile.

'And.....?'

'And?' I queried.

'Yes,' she said. 'And.... And how much?'

Angela

I opened the door, my daydreams disappearing like the bubbles from a kiddies sticky bubble wand.

Gary was at least fifty, about five foot four, his hair was receding and he was nearly as much overweight as I was. My heart fell, even though I knew in my heart that he would only have been after my money.

He came in and, not until he had asked me a few questions about my life and I had made him a cup of tea, did I have the nerve to ask him about the ticket.

We quickly completed the formalities. The ticket was valid.

'And .... And how much? How much have I won?'

'You didn't hear on the news last night.'

I shook my head.

'I didn't take much notice until I saw that I had at least four of the numbers. It was a roll-over wasn't it?'

I almost whispered, 'Is there enough to get a new flat, I would so like to move, but a nice flat round here would be almost a million.'

I started a new little day dream of me walking into one of those swanky flats with a doorman. 'Good afternoon, Miss Prendergast. Been shopping again?'

It must have been the 'Pretty Woman' style shopping bags I was carrying.

'Sit down,' he said standing and leading me to the other chair in the lounge

'Seventeen million, four hundred and ninety-eight thousand, two hundred and twelve pounds.'

My eyes rolled and I think I fainted for a moment or two. I could see him watching me as he hovered, in case I fell off the chair.

He then sat down with me and explained that he could be my advisor and even chaperone for a while, if I wanted. The company would pay for his time and all his expenses, within reason, and he could advise me on how to invest, or even spend my money and also to change my life-style if I wanted him to. If I wanted to!

He would leave me to think about it and promised to come back Monday morning if that is what I would like.

I must have been somewhat out of my mind because I started to tell him my life story. It was the first time I had found somebody ready to sit and listen since Mama died and it poured out of me like a novel. Facts, times, dates, reminiscences, feelings, it all came out.

Hours later and I was still talking. We had taken a taxi, A Taxi!, to a nice little restaurant he knew in Soho, I only knew it as a sleazy area I had never been to before. No second-hand bookshops or museums here. There was even a strip-tease establishment over the road. A frisson of excitement passed through me, somehow ending between my legs. Was this safe?

I managed eventually to arrive at my daydreams, my desire for a man to woo me. Even the strange feelings I got some nights as my hands searched below my nightwear were admitted.

Eventually I stopped. I had run out of steam. I was embarrassed at some of the things I had told him.

'I am sorry. You have been so kind to listen. I must go.'

'Why,' he said. 'You have nowhere to go except home on your own. If you want, we can change your life. I can make things happen. Excitement, danger, sex, men. Is that what you want?'

I nodded quickly, afraid that this was just a dream that might go away when I awoke.

'You will have to put yourself in my hands completely,' he said. 'Can you do that? Do you trust me?'

I must have been mad but I nodded again.

While I continued to drink some of the champagne he had ordered, he excused himself to use the phone. He was gone about ten minutes before returning.

'I have taken the liberty of starting to change your life. Are you ready?' I nodded breathlessly and folded my napkin, preparing to stand.

He laughed, not unkindly, and said 'Not that much of a hurry. It is five thirty, James will pick you up at eight for a date. Cocktail dress.'

'A word of warning. Do not fall in love with him. He is a professional male escort. He is good-looking and he will be the first man to flatter and adore you. He will be doing this for me and to be brutally frank, for money. He has a partner, a wife actually, who will never be mentioned and he will deny it if you ask. He is for you to experience. To find out what you have been missing all these years. Then, if you want change your life the way you say you want to, you must enjoy your time with him and want more. See it as a test.'

I nodded again, suddenly unsure.

He gave me no time. 'Do you have something suitable to wear?'

Well,' I said. 'I have a flowery dress that looks quite nice even if it is a little on the tight side. Or a skirt I wear to the office with a mauve blouse.'

He looked saddened and whispered so that no-one else could hear.

'Do you remember how much money you now have? I think it is time to spend some.'

'But it is Sunday evening, Oxford Street is closed I think.'

'Forget Oxford Street. Bond Street, Knightsbridge, Harrods these are your new destinations.

I beamed. I had forgotten.

'But it is still a Sunday.'

'I know a little place around the corner. It is more a costumier for the Film Industry than a regular shop, so some of the clothes are a little more exotic than you may be used to. But they do sell or even rent their clothes. Dresses, underwear, shoes, accessories, everything. And you will put yourself entirely in my hands.'

I nodded carried away with his enthusiasm and jumped to my feet.

We paid the bill on the run and he turned me around a couple of corners to a little black unmarked door. Suddenly my fears arose again. Was he going to mug me?

I calmed myself with the reassurance that I had no money on me. Why would he possibly want to hurt me.

The door opened.

'M'sieu Ayres, entrez s'il vous plait.'

We were ushered into a small but comfortable room with a full-length mirror, sideboard, a sofa and a couple of chairs.

'Bonjour Madame DuBarry. This is my friend Angela of whom I have spoken.'

I realised that this must already have been organised on the phone. He was kind. He knew I would have no suitable clothing. I threw him a smile of gratitude.

He sat heavily down on the sofa and motioned me to the chair towards the middle of the room.

'Mamselle, may I be cruel to be kind. You have the most enchanting face, the glorious English skin, so fair, the pretty mousee 'air, but alors, tied in a pony-tail. You have no attention to detail.'

I thought my telling off was over.

'But alzo you are too 'eavy. You must lose much weight. And your glasses. 'Ave you not heard of contact lenses?'

My spirits plummeted.

'But Mamselle, zese things will only take time and money. They can be ow-yo-say, sorted.' She beamed at me. I half smiled back through teary eyes.

Gary said 'I am sorry Angela but she is right. We can have you spend time in the Gym. Get some contacts. I will get you a personal trainer. You can be really beautiful. I beamed again at him. He knew how to get round me. No-one had ever called me beautiful, even if I wasn't yet.

'Right, Madame find us some dresses suitable for dinner and a casino.'

She disappeared for ten minutes and came back with an armful of dresses she slung over the side of the other chair.

'Stand here in ze light with your back to the mirror. La. Oui. Take off your dress and try on this black one first.'

I looked at Gary and he looked right back at me.

'Angela, you must trust me. Madame DuBarry is here. We know what looks good.'

I looked down at my toes and started to unbutton my jeans that I had slung on first thing that morning. I suddenly realised that my underwear was old and also not clean on today, was it yesterday, or maybe Friday. I started to lift my t-shirt and remembered that my bra was in the same condition. I had been meaning to buy underwear for a while. I hesitated and they both looked at me.

'Mamselle Angela, do not be shy. We will have you looking wonderful in just a moment.'

I took a deep breath and pulled my shirt over my head. My jeans dropped to the floor.

'Sacre bleu. What are you wearing? These garments you have on they are ten years old and so...so...so...ugly. Un moment.'

I looked down at my white faded comfortable bra and thick pink knickers.

From the corner of my eye I could see Gary shaking his head sadly.

'You really do need my help Angela,' he said. 'Where is your pride to wear clothes like that, even on a budget. But do not worry, Madame DuBarry will sort you out.'

In the meantime Madame had arrived with a few boxes of underwear.

'Try these,' she said holding a white broderie anglais bra and panties up before my eyes.

I looked again at Gary, surely he intended to leave the room, or at least avert his eyes.